on the death of hope

Sometimes life just stinks.  There's no "making it better."  There's nothing anyone can say to take away the hurt, the disillusionment, the inescapable feeling of inferiority.  The constant knowledge of how much I fall short of whatever standard it is that I'm trying to meet.

Sometimes the "life is a roller coster" idea is so true.  I live through a period of intense hope, knowing that to hope is so foolish.  'Cuz the hope always ends, and I'm back where I started... back to square one.  Back to the knowledge that I am not that which I desperately wish I was.

Sometimes I hate hope.  I hate it so much.  It always betrays me.  Always.

And that's when I "settle."  I'll take my life as is.  I'll take it, because I can learn to be satisfied with it.  I can learn to love it, even.  Rather than letting the despair overwhelm me, I deal with the death of hope by simply reminding myself that even though reality is never as good as dream, reality is good, too.

I live in a beautiful city.  I have wonderful friends here, wonderful friends back home.  I am getting my masters in history.  And it's good.  Life, that is.  Life is good.

We can't all get what we want.  Some of us will get the short end of the stick.